


Chronic Fatigue Sydrome

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [182]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Chronic Illness, Gen, Sam with a chronic illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: Sam's not sure what this is, at first, but he's damn sure it's not a cold. He finds a doctor, and from there he gets a diagnosis.





	Chronic Fatigue Sydrome

**Author's Note:**

> This is another piece from Tumblr.
> 
> Warnings for chronic illness (chronic fatigue syndrome).

Sam is about the least likely person to develop CFS, so he didn’t worry about it. Why bother? There were so many things more likely to kill him than a disease he wasn’t even really at risk for.

Nevertheless, he’s thirty-five when he starts noticing things. The headache that won’t go away–well, he’s a hunter, and a researcher, and a poor sleeper. That’s not unusual. And then comes the joint pain, but Sam’s thirty-five and he’s been hunting his whole life. It was bound to catch up with him.

But then there’s the sore throat, the swollen lymph nodes, and the fact that trying to go on his morning run leaves him sick for three days.

He’s tired all the time, and no matter how hard he tries to sleep, it won’t get better. Activities he previously considered mundane are completely exhausting. He spends more time in bed or on the couch than he ever has before.

Sam sucks up his pride, fakes some insurance, and finds a doctor. He doesn’t know what this is, but he knows its not a cold, not a joke, not something he’s going to get over.

Four doctors and three months later, Sam hears the words Chronic Fatigue Syndrome for the first time.

The words seem obvious to seem. He’s fatigued. Chronically. It’s not a revelation.

But it’s a name and a name comes with next steps, so he’ll take it.

They start him off on some medications to hit some of the symptoms. They recommend a sleep schedule, nix alcohol, caffeine, and daily naps, all things Sam’s been relying on since he got sick to keep him functioning. They recommend therapy, both physical and mental, to help Sam start to deal with this.

Sam takes it as read that he has to retire from hunting. He can’t risk being so sick he physically can’t move on a hunt, can’t risk his joints aching so much that even taking another step feels like the worst kind of chore. Instead, he turns to his library where, as long as he takes care of himself, he can mostly keep up.

Dean’s not happy. Sam being sick freaks Dean out, Sam knows, but Dean takes it out in frustration until Sam snaps that, if it bothers Dean that much, Sam will get an apartment somewhere else. Things change after that. Dean tries to relax, and begins to feel out where Sam’s boundaries are. It’s not easy–he can’t be Dean’s backup anymore, and that’s incredibly stressful all on its own–but they make it work.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says over the phone.

Sam sets his fork down. “Hey, Dean.”

“How’re things?”

Sam sighs. “I’m in the chair today,” he admits. Walking was just too much, too much energy expended, too draining, too much on his aching joints.

Dean used to hate hearing about the chair, actively shied away from it as if it would bite them. Now he just says, “Good. We bought the damn thing so you could use it when you needed it. It’s there to help you.”

Sam manages a little smile. “I know,” he says, and he does. He doesn’t like it, but he understands it. And it does a lot for him, so he can respect that.

“Did you get that research done? It’s okay if you didn’t, I get it–”

“I did,” Sam says, rifling through his notes as he tells Dean all about the angry spirit he’s facing.

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean says fondly. “Make sure to rest up. Take care of yourself. All goes well, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it,” Sam says before hanging up. He leans back in the chair for a minute, then sits up again so he can finish his meal.

So he’s not a hunter. And his life at nearly forty isn’t what he imagined it might be–although, honestly, on that front, “alive” is an unexpected twist. He’s doing okay, he thinks. In the grand scheme of things, he’s getting along.


End file.
